The Fruits of Their Labors

Rewrote 17.1 — 54m43s — 2021/11/16

Polished 17.1, 17.2, 17.3, 17.4, and 17.5— 1h03m57s — 2021/11/17

Polished 17.1. End the chapter with Krumpus telling Wenifas she’s pregnant — 43m19s — 2021/11/18

Polished 17.1 and 17.2. Put Krumpus in 17.1 trying to tell Wenifas she is pregnant—but the mourning woman sends him away before he can spill the beans — 25m35s — 2021/11/19

Polished 17.1 and 17.2 — 21m48s — 2021/11/22

Polished 17.1 — 30m14s — 2022/01/24

Polished 17.1, 17.2, 17.3, 17.4, and 17.5 — 37m53s — 2022/01/26

The sun’s light was fading. Stars were beginning to dot the sky. The Jindleyaks and their Soatren guests stood on a bare hill a couple hundred yards behind the barn, gathered before a fire. Caught in her feels, Wenifas held Evereste as the pyre burned, the slight body of her boy laid on top. The tiny child, Evereste, was as happy and burbling as ever—in absolute contrast to everyone else that was gathered. Evereste stared at the fire, her hands stretched out to the twisting flames, as she cooed and squealed at the dancing light.

There were too many losses lately. None had heard word or whisper of Meu since she was swept away by the leviathan, disappearing into the dark clouds while wrapped about that wicked naga. Then there was Derris, the soldier she still loved. Yet, the boy was the worst of it. Her pride and joy, her growing child, was just beginning to show the kind of man he would be; inquisitive, dashing, courageous—almost too eager to defend his mother. She felt she had failed the child and worried that she’d fail her daughter next.

Unlike the pyre that celebrated the lives of Apulton and Traust, this fire was a quiet and somber affair. The duke had no grand speech to give, there was no song and no dance to break the grief. There was only the crackle of the fire, the curl of the rising flames—and Evereste trying to get closer.

If it weren’t for Evereste would Wenifas care to go on? Evereste; the baby with the undying fascination of fire. It was a miracle she’d still never been burned. Yet, Wenifas knew it would happen soon enough. There was no escaping such a basic lesson. Innocence was forever shifting into experience; cold, hard, and sharp. How long would it be? When would her vigilance slip and allow the child the burn she begged for? Might it take a few more years? Might it happen before the week was out?

Wenifas glanced around the pyre and realized few of the others were immune to the child’s charms. Through her grief, she smiled at the others. She was more than happy to have the patient and caring shaman around, and was growing quite fond of his people. They were as kind and generous as she could possibly hope. And yet, they harbored the men that killed Derris. She didn’t mind the duke, and the native guide seemed harmless enough, but the one was a cad, and the dark man was strange and foreboding.

The next day, Wenifas wondered off on her own. She sat among a meadow of flowers and bawled over her losses as Evereste explored the late summer blossoms of the field. The priestess wondered that still wasn’t cried out and felt as if her heart would break.

Eventually, the tears subsided. A comforting numbness settled upon her as she watched the bees dance about the field, unconcerned with her grief.

The pastoral sublimity did not last. Someone approached. Realizing she was no longer alone, Wenifas looked up to see Baet standing a short way off. She glared, frustrated that he always seemed to present himself when she least wanted to see him—that is to say, she never wanted to see him. So why must he always bother her?

The Saot raised his hands in hopes of quelling her obvious anger. “He was a special boy,” he said as he pulled the naga blade from his belt and held it gently before him. “I found this on the beach. He loved it and claimed he took it from the naga in Beletrain.”

“I know the blade,” the priestess confirmed.

“I was teaching him to use it—though I guess I didn’t teach him fast enough,” Baet stammered. “Anyway, I don’t know if you want it, but I thought you should have it.”

Wenifas took the offered blade and turned it in her hand. Since Beletrain, her son was never without it. She smiled to think of her son trying to gut the guard and cursing the man, simply for dancing with her.

But that’s not how it went. Wenifas tried to gut him first—and almost managed it. Then, when she was blocked, the child jumped at the man and attempted to finish her work. She smiled to think of it. He was such a loyal boy.

Wenifas pointed the dagger at the guard, though she didn’t advance. “I don’t know what you said to him. I don’t know why he liked you. But I do know that he went from trying to kill you, to sneaking off so he could train with you. Whatever it was that you said, whatever it was that you did, thank you.”

“He snuck because he thought you’d be mad about it,” Baet explained.

“Oh I was,” Wenifas nodded. “Still, you were his friend when there were few friends for a boy to find. I want to thank you for that. Friends were always a big part of Claiten’s life.”

Baet gave a nod. “He was a good kid. Given a couple more years, he might have been the right kind of terror.”

“Given a couple more years…” Weinfas wiped her eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Baet replied, “losses,” he corrected weakly—then, having said his peace, he turned to leave.

"How’s Toar?" Wenifas asked. Now that he had bothered her, she was yet ready to be alone again.

Baet turned and smiled. “He’s up and about. He says he sees the world through a shake of pepper—but at least he sees the world.”

“Good to hear it,” Wenifas replied.

"Don’t feel sorry for the lad,” Baet began. “Between his face and butt, he has plenty of scars to impress the ladies.”

“Not everyone’s first concern is impressing the ladies,” Wenifas noted. “What of Komotz?”

“He’s better one day, worse the next,” Baet shrugged. “The others want to go on to Hearthstone and bring him with us—all except Scurra. I’m beginning to think she never agrees with anything.”

Wenifas eyed the guard. “She was right the last time.”

Baet shrugged. “Nobody’s right all the time.”

For a long second, the two simply stared at each other, then Wenifas reached into her robes and pulled out Cloud Breaker. She held the weapon in her lap. “That morning, as I crested that hill, I looked down at the others, I saw that one-eyed naga had Meu wrapped up. It seemed to me that he had her in a bad way, but my boy was already on it. He charged in and swiped at the bastard. The great beast dodged easy enough—though he had to let go of Meu to do it,” she shook her head.

Baet listened, rapt to hear the particulars, since he had not seen much of the fight.

Wenifas continued. “I saw the blow coming. I saw it, and there was something I could do about it,” Wenifas said as she lifted the pistol. “I pulled the musket, aimed, and fired. But I missed. I thought to throw the gun at him—but I didn’t. I balked. I didn’t want to throw it because I thought you might pick it up.” She turned the weapon over in her hand. “I hate you so much, I failed to do the one last thing that might have saved my child,” she said as she stared up at the man.

Baet blinked and stared back at the enraged mother, eyes wide to hear such a confession.

Wenifas shrugged. “When I fired, the ball carried to the right. I know it carried right, because I saw hit the naga that sat astride Andrus.”

Baet nodded. “Ain’t he the lucky one.”

“I don’t mind that I saved the man—but it was not my intention. If I could do it again, I would let the Jindleyak die,” Wenifas wiped her eye. “I’d let him die a thousand times if it would save my boy.” With that, she lifted the gun and offered it to Baet. “Take it,” she said.

For a long second he simply stared at her.

“It poisons me to have it,” Wenifas said and waved the weapon with contempt. “It didn’t help me when I wanted to kill the naga. It didn’t help me when I wanted to kill you. As far as I can tell, it’s worthless.”

Baet gaped as he took the musket, tucked in its holster, and reverently placed the belt around his waist. “It is not an easy thing to aim a musket in the rain while so many are fighting all around you,” he noted. “Nor is it good to throw such a beautiful and delicate weapon.”

Wenifas stared at the man. “Would you have missed?”

“I wasn’t even there,” Baet shrugged. “Duty kept me with the prisoners,” he hanged his head and stared at the ground for several seconds. “I like to think if I was, I might have been able to do something.”

Wenifas said nothing.

Baet looked up at the priestess. For a long second, he stared at the fine features of the exotic woman. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said as he gave a low bow. “Thank you,” he added, then decided it was best to leave her alone. He turned and walked away.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Paye found the letter on her dresser as she prepared for bed. She unfolded it and read it, somewhat perplexed that Homoth wanted her to send the ornament that hanged over the mantle back to Hearthstone with the others. He didn’t give a reason for wanting it, he simply asked her to keep it secret from the others.

Paye stood in the main room and stared at the heavy decoration, made with precious metals and pricey gems. She thought perhaps she should deny his request. After all, it didn’t belong to him. It belonged to the family, and it belonged at their house in Excergie. There was little use for it back in Hearthstone. Still, her brother had left her quite a nice note, and she had not seen him in such a long time, so she climbed up over the mantle and pried the large ornament off the wall. The ornament was much heavier than Paye anticipated. It came off the hook and promptly pulled her off balance. She would have fallen, and dropped the piece to boot, if not for the helpful hands of Baetolamew.

“Easy there,” he smiled, as he steadied her, then helped her off the mantle. “Ma’am,” the Saot said, then turned and made his way out of the room.

Paye watched him go. There seemed to be more swagger than usual as he walked away. She noted the musket on his hip and wondered that she had not seen the weapon before. He turned and glanced back as he got to the hall. A sly grin crept along his lips, and he gave her a wink. Paye blushed and looked away as she realized he was handsome devil indeed.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The next morning, as they all prepared to leave for Hearthstone, a true miracle occurred—though it made Aim jump. A serpent with wings like an eagle swooped out of the trees and wrapped around the priestess before anyone could do anything about it.

The beast was massive! The weight of it caught Wenifas off guard and almost tumbled her to the earth. Wailing and sobbing, the priestess struggled to right herself as the serpent twisted about her. Cursing and sputtering, Aim pulled a blade and rushed to intervene—but Andrus grabbed his arm and stopped him.

With a wry smile, Andrus gaped at the beast. “She returns,” he said as he held Aim back.

“Who? What?” Aim asked.

“The skin-walker!” Andrus replied. “The one you told me to keep an eye on,” he ribbed the big man. “Don’t you know that’s Meu?”

Aim frowned. “That’s not Meu,” he replied. “That’s… that’s… what is that?!”

“It’s Meu!” Andrus insisted. “Didn’t you see her when we fought the naga?!”

Aim shook his head, “I didn’t see anything like that.”

Andrus frowned. “How’d you not see that?!”

“What?! You mean with the everyone screaming and fighting; with dragons, a leviathan, and naga—far too many naga?!” Aim huffed. “I almost got skewered by a fish fork! If that beast was at the fight, it wasn’t fighting near me!”

Andrus shrugged. “So much for situational awareness.”

Aim pressed a finger against the sling that held his cousin’s arm. “You ended the fight on your back and had to ride in the wagon! I made it through without a scratch!” he said as he turned back to the winged serpent that wrapped around a giddy Wenifas. “That thing fought the naga?”

“You’re the one that told me to keep an eye on her,” Andrus noted. “You never noticed anything strange?”

Aim shrugged. “Just that she was strange,” the big man frowned. “Meu’s a skin-walker?!” he repeated, barely believing it. Yet, the priestess was in no danger as she hopped about, stroking the curious beast, laughing so hard that she cried yet again.

Andrus turned to the house and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Aim asked his retreating cousin.

“To borrow one of Paye’s dresses, so she has something to wear,” Andrus said as he pointed at Meu.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Everyone was excited by Meu’s return. Indeed, it was the big event of an uneventful day. After that, the company packed up their belongings, put Komotz in the back of the wagon, and proceeded west without much to-do.

The Jindleyak decided it was best to take them to the Trandhill mansion at the edge of Hearthstone, considering the esteemed status of their guest. Still, they had another day’s travel before they made it that far. Evening came. Camp was set. As the others slept, Meu slipped from the the priestess’ tent. She crept about, dodged the watch, and lingered near the duke’s tent. She could hear the man tossing and turning. She scratched at the door.

Shortly, the duke pulled open its buttons and glared into the night. When he saw it was the sin-walker, his face relaxed—brightened even—as he looked at her with increasingly appreciative eyes. Meu entered and sat. Soon she was telling him of the last time they saw each other—during their battle with the naga. She filled in the details of her fight with Golifett. She explained how Claiten saved her life. She spoke of getting grabbed by the mighty leviathan—of being pulled through the clouds while entangled with Golifett. The cloud kraken had them wrapped tight as it dragged them through the air. Meu bit at the tentacle as Golifett slashed it with his sword. Aggrieved, the kraken let them slip.

Meu flew as Golifett fell. A tendril lashed out from the leviathan, but failed to regain either morsel. If they’d been the beast’s only focus, they surely would have perished, but the mighty leviathan was after dragons and rushed away. Meu followed the naga down, until he smashed into a small grove. She found his tangled form in the low branches of an oak, with lifeless eyes, bent and broken.

After that, the search for her friends began. She climbed into the cloudless sky, quite blue and clear after the morning’s storm. She realized she’d been carried generally east of their camp, which she eventually found—though it was already abandoned. She followed the road to Excergie, which she didn’t reach until the next morning. then continued east until she reached Hearthstone a good day later. She figured there was no way the party had come so far so fast, and decided they must have stopped, so she turned back and retraced the road. When she reached Excergie she began to search the town, mostly at dawn and dusk, when the light was bad, and she was less likely to be spotted. It took a couple days, but then she heard Wenifas scolding her child about the dangers of fire—and that’s how she found them.

Creigal smiled at the tale.

Enough of the naga and the kraken, Meu said as she stared at the duke. Come south with me. What are the chances you’ll find this thief anyway?

“I will find the thief, I am sure of it,” Creigal confided.

How can you be so sure?

“My daughter comes to me in my dreams. She begs me to continue.”

Dreams could mean anything, Meu replied.

Creigal shook his head. “I considered going home, especially when I was prisoner to the Ministrians. But the dreams—so vivid, so clear. She begs me not to let her go so easily—even though she is dead and I shall never see her in this waking world. So you see, I am assured that I will find the thief’s trail.”

Suppose the dreams are just dreams, Meu began. Say that you cannot find this trail? How long shall you search?

“Until it is hopeless,” he smiled.

You say yourself that war comes to your home. Do you not want to be there to defend it?

“I was never going to be the one to defeat the King,” Creigal admitted. “That would take the entire people. I believe they will be strong enough with my nephew to lead them.”

If you come south, you can be with me, Meu noted.

“And that is the best reason to go,” Creigal smiled. “I suppose one never knows. Perhaps I won’t find the thief’s trail and I will have nowhere else to go—or perhaps the thief came north only to turn around and go back. Perhaps I will find myself returned to Gaurring, still chasing the thief.”

Meu frowned. You don’t believe either of those possibilities, she noted. You’re convinced this Humbert continues afield.

Creigal nodded. “I feel this is far from done. From what I hear, this Humbert is conniving and opportunistic. I cannot see him settling down among a kind and caring people like these Jindleyak. Why must you go south? Why don’t you come with me?”

Meu grinned. Ahh, but we all have daughters, she began. One of mine is about to hatch her first clutch. I wish to be there for her, in the first days, when it is most difficult.

Creigal nodded. “Ah yes, I remember your song. What if I promise to come south after I deal with this Humbert?”

Meu smiled. I shall have my daughter and grandchildren to keep me busy. I believe the time shall pass quickly for me.

In such a manner they continued to talk, until the duke had to take the watch. He relieved Baet, then sat among a jumble of boulders at the edge of camp. He was alone for just a few minutes before Meu joined him. They sat under the faint light of the Tears of the Broken Moon with Tristmegist high above, and gazed off into the trees. Oblarra was below the horizon, which suited Meu just fine, as she never cared for its creeping red light.

For a time they talked, until Meu ran out of things to say. Then she leaned on the duke and rested her eyes. Before long, Creigal noticed she’d fallen asleep. He smiled and smoothed her hair. She woke to find herself being carried into camp. “My watch is just about done,” he said as he placed her in his tent. “I will join you shortly.”

She smiled and nodded, then closed her eyes once more.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

The next day, as the party continued east, a rider bearing the colors and insignia of the Oak and Beast approached upon the road. Duboha rode out to meet the sour old man. They exchanged a few words, then waited for Creigal to join them, and also Carringten, who was never far off. Having nothing else to do, Baet crept at the edge of the conference.

Duboha introduced the grim old man to the Saots. “This is our cousin, Roustich…”

Baet leaned close to Carringten. “They have more cousins than the duke,” he whispered.

Carringten shooed away his commentary as Duboha continued. “…he has unsettling news out of the south.”

“There is blood,” Roustich began. “Bouge marauders have sacked the town of Solveny.”

“Solveny?” Carringten shook his head. “Why should anyone wish to harm Solveny?”

“They say it is retaliation for what has happened in the west lands,” Roustich answered. “But I figure you will know more about that, since you have come from that direction.”

“The false war,” Creigal nodded. “Dressed as Saots, the Ministrians emptied the west lands. But their troubles come from Wibbeley, so the question stands: why Solveny?”

“Through the fog of war, it is hard to tell what is really happening,” Duboha noted. “The Ministrians empty the west lands with the Degorouth’s blessing—despite their open declarations and protestations against the ‘Saot invaders’. Indeed, I’d heard rumor of refugees in Rynth Falls. Mostly men. There was speculation that Kezodel was forming an army—though nobody could figure to what end. He certainly wasn’t about to use it to protect the west lands, which means there’d be no action against Wibbeley,” he shrugged. “Perhaps they simply lashed out at the nearest Saot city.”

“That is not all,” Roustich cut in. “Many of the marauders continued south, sacking villages and farmsteads. Among them were Saot officers, dressed in red and black, bearing the insignia of a bird in flight.”

“Gaurs?” Baet shook his head. “We barely trade with Trohls, much less the Bouge. Land’s End could cut us off whenever they like, and if I’m reading the winds correctly, they’d do that immediately. Who’d believe we’re making secret military alliances with a people we don’t even know?”

“In times of war, sense goes right out the window,” Carringten noted. “That's how these Trohls could be convinced to strike south at Solveny, instead of going after Wibbeley, where their troubles truly originate.”

“So a bunch of Trohls and Ministrians sack a Noethrin town under false colors—but to what end?” Duboha wondered.

“Minist wants war between the Noeth and Gaurring?” Baet shrugged.

“Minist always wants war,” Creigal cut in. “And Solveny is a perfect target. It is subject and very loyal to Rathar, Count of the High Plains.”

“Why should Land’s End wish to strike against High Plains?” Duboha asked. “Is not Rathar a bannerman to the Dunkels?”

“Oh, Rathar is sworn to Land’s End,” Creigal agreed. “But they do not like each other. There has often been animosity between these families, and the current generations care nothing for each other,” he continued. “Still, one finds himself with the alliances he has, and not always the alliances he wants.”

Carringten spit, “Politics.”

“Always politics,” Creigal smiled. “Solveny is not loved by Land’s End, which means the King has little use for the town. Perhaps Solveny was targeted because it would offend the Noeth so little to lose it—though it might make a good show as it burned,” he surmised. “I am sorry for Solveny and High Plains both. This latest iteration of Dunkels are a sordid and uninspiring lot. To think they’ve conspired with the king against their own subjects does not shock me at all.”

‘So you think the King is involved?” Duboha asked.

“Of course he is,” Creigal replied. “The Dunkels might be an opportunistic lot, but they are not so ambitious to come up with such a complex plot; to sack one of their own towns and frame another duchy for the offense. They would not make such an ambitious move without the King’s backing.”

“So you think they move against Solveny as a pretense for attacking Gaur?” Duboha asked. “They take advantage of your absence.”

“I’ve left good men in charge,” Creigal replied. “Yet, perhaps our enemies think too much of me—or perhaps they think their Jaded Blades will be successful—or perhaps they think I will not hear the news.”

“But you have,” Baet smiled. “And now their troubles begin.”

“You and I might have little to do with it,” Creigal noted.

Carringten studied his master. “Then you still hope to find Humbert’s trail?”

“I do,” Cregial nodded.

“But, war,” Baet said.

Creigal shrugged. “We’ve been at war with the kingdom for years.”

“Yes, but now it is an open war,” Baet replied. “Can we hope to fight both the Kingdom and the Empire?”

“The Empire has interests in Hof Hebrin, Borzia, and now the Trohl Freelands,” Creigal replied. “What makes you think they have enough men to capture Gaurring?”

“There certainly seem to be enough of them mucking about,” Baet shrugged.

Creigal shook his head. “I do not see how the Empire can manage all its current conquests and still bring any bulk of men to bare against our home.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Baet noted.

“Perhaps,” Creigal shrugged. “If the Empire moves against us, the Gods help us. But I think not. I think the King believes it is enough to have Land’s End attack us from the north, so he can pinch us from the south and west with his own forces.”

“He shall have us on three sides,” Baet nodded. “With our backs to the Breck,” he smiled.

“I cannot believe the King thinks we actually war with the Breck anymore,” Creigal replied. “By now he must know they are our secret allies. Still, he thinks he can win such a war, and so he has acted.”

“Let me see if I have this straight,” Duboha began. “So this King burns out a Noethrin town, blames it on the Trohls, and suggests you were the one that got the Trohls into the town in the first place. And he does all this just so he can attack you?” He shook his head. “Seems like a lot of trouble just to war with one of his own duchies.”

“Agreed,” Creigal replied. “But there are other duchies to appease: Pagladoria, Ewile, Kelm. He paints us in a bad light, so although they may not support him, they will not support us either.”

“And none of these duchies will come to your aide?“ the Trohl continued his questions.

“I do not see Pagladoria or Kelm sitting on the sidelines, and I do not see them siding with us,” Creigal noted. “Ewile is likely to sit aside, though the King may command them to act—which would bring about some interesting possibilities. They too chafe under Danya’s rule and could split if forced to take a side—especially if we are doing well. In my estimation, it looks to be Gaur and the Breck against Danya, the Noeth, Kelm and Pagladoria, while Ewile sits it out.”

“Only we have black powder,” Baet grinned.

Duboha eyed the duke. “Do you think he engages because you have left the duchy?”

“Perhaps,” Creigal shrugged. “He may not fear me, but I’m told he suffers a healthy respect. It makes sense that he would act while I am far from home. Yet, war is slow. It is just as likely a coincidence that I have left the duchy just as the King’s plans have started to unfold.”

“It doesn’t hurt that he clears out Solveny and weakens Rathar of High Plains,” Carringten added. He turned to Roustich. “Did you say these Trohls were burning and killing their way south, toward Gaurring?”

“That is the word,” Roustich nodded.

“With a Gaur officer?” Carringten continued. “And I assume there are few survivors—very few survivors indeed?”

“Ravaged and raped,” Roustich replied. “‘Left for dead’ is the term I hear bandied about.”

Carringten looked to Creigal and the duke nodded. “If they’re men of Gaur, they’ll be Aerindoun’s men,” the Borz stated. “Perhaps Banifourd and Garf.”

“They seem the type to relish such dirty work,” Baet spit.

Creigal shook his head. “How did I ever trust such men?”

“One does not always like the alliances he has,” Carringten shrugged. “Banifourd was sworn to you. Despite open disagreements, he served you often and well. He was also at hand and known to have connections in the Noeth,” the captain stated. “There was every indication that he was the right man to bring.”

“Yet, he turned on me,” Creigal noted. “When I needed him most, he turned on me.”

“That’s how a good spy operates,” Baet nodded.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.6 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Meriona is raped by Naiphan and Bruck. They tell her if they ever see her again, they’ll murder her.

End of chapter.